Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.


Hail Mary, full of grace,

Her name was Mary,
& she would have been beautiful:
shimmering hair, pink bow lips.

the Lord is with thee.

He is not with me.
There are times when the divine
disappears, leaving us blind.

Blessed art thou amongst women,

I am cursed,
or at least stranded in shadow,
away from the rays of His radiance.

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

You suffered, too, lost
your son & watched the world
gain a savior.

Holy Mary, mother of God,

How did it feel,
knowing the weight of His bleeding
limbs in your tired hands?

pray for us sinners,

& did He ever sin?
I need to know He was human.
Maybe not like me, but all the same.

now and at the hour of our death.

Please protect the one I lost.
Watching her gasp out a last breath
was agony for both of us.

Caitlin Johnson is the Managing Editor of CAIRN: The St. Andrews Review. Additionally, she holds a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from Lesley University. Her work has appeared in Charlotte Viewpoint, Fortunates, Pembroke Magazine, Vagina: The Zine, and What the Fiction, among other outlets.

Categories: Poetry

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1 reply

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